Mocking Blanks Out Faces Of Pain

A TOUCH OF TLC

I've been trying to figure this out for some time now, but I still don't understand why two women decided to make light of an auction at the Lupus 2000 benefit hosted by Backstreet Boy Howie Dorough.

These women bid $15,500 this summer to have dinner with Dorough but failed to pay that amount. One woman from Wisconsin said she thought she was agreeing to split the cost of the dinner and could pay only $8,000 of the bid. The other woman from South Carolina bid as a joke to run up bids. She paid $220.

Because of their actions, less money will go toward finding a cure for a disease that affects at least 1.4 million Americans -- mostly women. With current therapy, deaths from lupus are less common but still occur.

Dorough's sister died from lupus, which causes the immune system to attack the body's own tissue. Personally, I've lost three special friends to the disease. It has been almost 20 years since Ronald died. He was 19 years old. I was 18.

Ronald was my first love. We weren't exactly high school sweethearts, however. We met at the bus stop on the first day of our sophomore year. Instead of love, we experienced strong dislike at first sight. We remained distant until our junior year. That's when we were thrown together as partners in a square- dancing class. Something about all those do-si-dos and sashays softened my heart toward him.

It took longer for me to soften his heart toward me -- until New Year's Eve of our senior year to be exact. Ronald and I had been invited to the same party. Shortly after midnight, he decided to leave. I ran after him.

"Hey," I said, "aren't you going to wish me a Happy New Year?"

He paused, turned around and . . . kissed me. I actually saw fireworks that night, and not because 1980 was minutes old.

Eight months later, we were dating exclusively. In the fall, he went off to the Air Force, and I went to college. We wrote each other often, developing a long-distance romance.

Lupus entered our lives in early 1981. Ronald was diagnosed after being hospitalized for several weeks with kidney problems and joint pain. I had never heard of the disease, but Ronald had. His mother had lived with it for years.

He went back to his air base thinking he could live with the disease as well. He wasn't gone for long. His mother died that April. Her lungs could no longer fight the complications lupus caused.

That summer, Ronald was sent to Italy. In his letters, he talked about missing his mother but otherwise seemed to be coping with the disease and adjusting to his new surroundings.

One night, Ronald called. He didn't quite sound like himself. There was sadness in his voice. During that call, he told me he loved me for the first time. He had written the words in his letters but had never spoken them. Before he hung up, he promised to send me a letter within the next couple of days.

That was the last time I talked to him. Two weeks later, I learned he had been hospitalized with a virus. Lupus had weakened his immune system. He couldn't walk, could barely talk and couldn't write.

The day after Ronald died, I got the letter he had promised me.

Though not by choice, I know a lot more about lupus now. And it's still killing people who mean a lot to me. My good friend lost his wife to the disease a few months ago. She left behind a 10-year-old daughter.